this pouring
the act of pouring
wine into this very glass
this very cheap box of white wine
sliding down the surface
of the translucent vessel
the vehicle of this
very moment
that
is the mind
of
god
in my delusion
this undying
night.
Poetry
lessons in finesse
A standstill collapse
locked door
sneaking a peek
to glimpse the rotting fuel
tunneling down a pipe
these anchoritic pieces
of me
falling into the orgy
of
classless waste
— a humming noise
coming from the wall
and
the thought
that you’ll never leave
this toilet alive
why should i?
this could be my last
excretion
my masterpiece of unpremeditated
feces
the revelation of the kingdom
of heaven
precisely when my
fat butt cheeks
begin to contract
for the final
plunge
(into the consciousness
of process and
decay)
jesus lord the fetidness
now
the work of
cleaning the gorge
my hands
gosh my hands
have mastered the crevice
SPOTLESSSSSS!
i stand, faucet, dry
Unlock
the world
return to the busy society
as another impeccable
glamour divinity
of the
human
race.
Modern Poetry
giving up time
Now that it’s
clear
that I write
the worst
poems of modern
times
I have excess of words
to give out as cigarettes
to the homeless freaks
of tomorrow’s
cave
I have these empty
whiskey glasses
for the saddened utopia
of ultimate
reality
giving up time
as a shoe
that blistered my feet
but a bum of philosophy
took up
as a joyride
to
perfection.
Modern Poetry
indictments
It is no accident
that we grew civilizations
like beards
on the first day
we became pubescent
instigators of chaos
the profligate erosion
sculpting heedless
landscapes on the arc
of this catastrophic planet
was not
enough for
the erotic sapiens
complexity as fetish
how the tables have turned
dread
served in Smörgåsbord style
for queuing prole
while the offices are
pulpit for the priesthood
of the abstract totem – $
and the day comes
carcass-congested rivers
clearing the malaise of cogito
the terrible sunshine of noon
falling on the
unadulterated
playground of the earth.
Modern Poetry
absence of essence
perhaps waiting for
that god to return and play
me like a
machine
who can I address
they all still believe in something
and I have this runaway course
poetry is my SOS cry!
I am not creating a worldview
I have an assembly line of doubts
working day and night
in the sweatshop of my
irrelevance
if you see me one day
half-dazed under an adjacent
shadow
compare the intangibility
between that shadow and me
compared our borrowed existence
the shadow merely the absence of light
on an extraneous surface, I an absence of essence
for a superficial world
if you see me one day
near the docks
you’ll see that my dreams
are not voyagers
they are seagulls
suspended in dead
air
nihilistic poetry
a personal account
So this is my
bloodless combat
a fight to death
when I have no flag
behind me to endorse
to glorify
I can sneak up behind time
strangle her
only later to be
grieving that nothing ever happens
I may surround all of matter
near midnight
obliterate it in one bright flash of idealism
only later to regret
that the mind is equally senseless
and then all the personal things
work grudges, love fractures, intoxication cravings, unspoken family sorrows
all those tanks, Morse codes, handheld grenades, isolated trenches
that I must overcome, decipher, throw away, endure
when I still don’t have a flag of purpose
to endorse
to glorify
should the inconceivable happen:
victory
to what homeland should I return
if this war
suddenly comes to an end?
Modern Poetry
uneventful
One more
Wednesday
I see trees
growing out of the soil
from what foundation,
i pondered
do these events stem from
later, in the day
almost midnight in fact
blues and poetry
in the streets of Klostergade
he read out loud
don’t quote me
“everybody doing nothing
for him that observes everything”
there’s so much space
for me to sing
for me to cry
in the streets
with the plaintive winds
as my unlikely saxophone melodies
of this melancholic night
that has a plain ending
some minute —-
soon.
Modern Poetry
exiting self
bon voyage
exiting self
to achieve
transcendence
from the will
acutely parted from the sky
wasting awash away
timeless
in the music
of plasma of objects
timeless drizzling self
aching in eternity
but effortlessly resonating
– exiting self –
at the core
of the
true
position
Modern Poetry
parcels of life
I try
to surpass existence
I fail
I simply: exist
I feel myself in the world
I am in it
yet I spend most of my time
dreaming
that I am not
I don’t deny that there
is something
my only yearning
is that I cease being
part of it
Nihilistic Poetry
open world
the first
thing
to come into being
poisoned us
blinded us
ruined us
we’re under the spell
that things can be known
I declare
we still don’t know
the universe is unsolved
is it a machine
an organism
a process
a mission
an explosion
or even the dream of a sleepy god
I don’t know
so… I wet my feet
at the shore of the Kattegat bay
whistling like the wind
on a hot summer day
Beyond Language 
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